


Those Days of Shine and Roses

by Silvergryphon06



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Zombie Apocalypse, Awkward Romance, F/M, Moonshine!, Slow Burn, bethyl
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-06
Updated: 2015-05-14
Packaged: 2018-03-29 08:11:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3888907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silvergryphon06/pseuds/Silvergryphon06
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their family had been making moonshine since before the Civil War, until Hershel Greene put that long, colorful history behind them. Now, in ill health and in debt, their failing farm landing on his youngest daughter's slim shoulders, Beth's contemplating firing her granddaddy's old still up to bring in more money. But she doesn't know a thing about making shine... </p><p>No Zombies, 70's AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! This is an AU plot that I've fallen in love with centered around my OTP Beth and Daryl. I'm having fun just writing it on the privacy of my computer, but it's something that I think a lot of people might enjoy, so here's me, sharing, lol. I'm really, really excited about it! This will be updated more slowly than 'Feral', since I plan on writing longer chapters and there's been a heavy amount of research involved (which is still ongoing), but I'm shooting for a chapter a week.
> 
> Please leave a comment and let me know what you guys think! All kudos are also enthusiastically welcomed with open arms! :)
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing, so help me gremlins. Except for the plot itself, everything else belongs to AMC, the lucky bastards.

**May 21, 1977**

The old truck, a faded 1941 GMC that her daddy had bought right before enlisting and had never had the heart to sell, rumbled into the poorly paved parking lot. Long pale fingers wrapped tightly around the gearshift and hauled it forward with a wrenched jerk, loose blonde hair flying as the truck shuddered to a stop.

"Son of a-"

The words were cut off as wide blue eyes snapped tightly closed, the cab of the truck suddenly deathly quiet as a deep breath was slowly inhaled. When they opened again, it was to look into the cracked rear view mirror, and the unfamiliar face that were staring back. How long had it been since she'd really looked in a mirror? She couldn't remember.

"You looked tired, girl," she told her reflection, unsurprised at how blankly the words were received.

Beth Greene _was_ tired. Exhausted, actually. Even in at the end of spring, when the world seemed to sigh and relax in the muggy Georgia heat, she just didn't seem to have enough time. And her face showed it. Fine lines pulled at her mouth, hardening her features as her lips seemed to be pressed in a permanent line. The skin beneath her eyes was darkly smudged, the eyes themselves sunken. She looked so much older than her eighteen years. She'd kept her mama's blonde hair, but the features that had always been compared, that the ladies in church had always hemmed and hawed about as the spitting image of her mother...no, those features had already worn away, leaving her with eyes almost too big for her face, too thin lips and cheekbones that jutted out, leaving her with a seemingly permanent harsh expression. Now, she thought with a wry twist of her mouth, there could be no doubt that she was her father's daughter.

With that in mind, she yanked on the stubborn door handle and hopped down, smoothing down her sunny yellow dress. Daddy loved her in this dress. She tried to wear it for him nearly every time she visited. Beth tipped her head back to look up at the hospital, its windows stretching so far up that she had to squint and shade her eyes with her free hand as the other slammed the truck door closed. Grady Memorial was the best hospital in a hundred miles. Old Doc Forrester hadn't had enough accolades to throw on the staff and their facility. Even knowing that, guilt curled like a cold lead weight in the pit of her stomach. She knew he hated it here, but he _needed_ those treatments. He breathed better, his fever broke...if he hadn't been so stubborn about that lung infection, it wouldn't have progressed as far as it had. He knew better than anyone how dangerous it was to let something like that sit and fester. Not that she could ever openly tell him that. He'd tune her out. Selective hearing, that's what Mama had called it.

Letting out a quiet breath, Beth tucked her keys in her small purse and started up the sidewalk. In all honesty, she hated the hospital just as much as he did. The walls were that putrid, sickly green that many medical offices preferred, claiming the color to be soothing. In reality, it was just a reminder of where you were. Everything was sterile and cold, even the paintings hung on the walls to bring a little life into the place. The staff were impersonal, lacking the warmth of more genuine interactions when they spoke with anyone, even each other. It was all clinical, aloof, so unlike home in every aspect that it unnerved Beth to walk through the doors.

Straightening her shoulders, she strode down the corridor towards the elevator, her low heels clicking mutedly on the white tile floor. With relief, she slipped into an empty one, ducking her head so that she couldn't see anyone in case they wanted to ride up as well. She pressed the button for the fifth floor and waited, tapping her foot in time to the music wafting in through the speaker in the ceiling. When the doors slid open again, she breezed through them, past the nurses' station and hung a left. Daddy's room was at the end of the hall, facing west, which was really one of the few redeemable qualities to be found. At least he was out of the sun until well into the afternoon, keeping the room pleasantly cool most of the day. But in fairness, it _was_ atrocious, even if it was clean.

Rapping her knuckles against the door, she peeked around its edge.

"Hey, Daddy," she said, her smile bright as a copper penny.

Hershel Greene sat propped up in his bed, his blanket tucked neatly across his legs and the Bible in his lap. His reading glasses were perched on the end of his crooked nose, not a hair out of place on his white crown, and he was freshly shaved. The look he gave her was warm as he marked his place with a thick fingertip.

"I was hoping you'd come today, Bethy."

"I always come on Sundays." Beth scooted the single chair in the room close to the edge of the bed, tucking her legs to the side as she sat down and leaned forward to take her father's hand in both of hers with a teasing grin. "You're on your best behavior."

Silver brows raised simultaneously. "I didn't realize I was so difficult to deal with that you could only come one day out of the week."

Her smile faded. "Daddy, I-"

"You're looking after things, I know," he interrupted her, gently squeezing her fingers. "I don't begrudge you that, sweetheart, not when you're doing it all by your lonesome."

Her relief turned to trepidation in the space of a heartbeat. "I'm doin' just fine, and Shawn's promised that he'll be home, just as soon as he gets bus fare."

Hershel's weathered features softened for a moment as he was reminded of his stepson, finishing his business degree at Duke up in North Carolina. He had a good head on his shoulders, and with a little luck, he was well on his way to setting himself up for a right nice future. But then the old man's features fell and Beth knew without him asking that her sister had crossed his mind. Gently, she cleared her throat.

"I got a call from Maggie last week," she assured him. "She's somewhere on the Appalachian Trail, she said, doin' fine. Even met a nice young man from here in Atlanta up there."

Hershel looked down at his youngest, his demeanor suddenly weary. "She won't be coming home."

It wasn't a question, but Beth still felt compelled to answer him, her heart sinking. "I don't think so, Daddy."

He rubbed his fingertips across his brow, falling quiet for a while. Beth stayed quiet too, letting his hand go and gently taking the Bible from him and setting it on the bedside table as he mulled over what she'd told him. Maggie'd been gone longer than Shawn. Ever since they were little, her older sister had a restlessness about her, never satisfied for long with anything; not games, not school, not relationships, not even home...nothing seemed to have a hold on her. Her eyes were always focused on the lane that led away from their sprawling farmhouse. How many evenings had Beth found her leaning against one of the thick white columns, her arms folded as she stared off where the sky and the earth met, like she was straining to see what was just beyond it.

The ink on her high school diploma had barely dried before she'd packed a duffle bag and was off, sneaking out into the night without a word. It'd broke her parents' hearts, but she'd suspected that they'd known it was coming. And Shawn had followed right after her. They were only a year apart, but instead of taking off for God knew where, he'd sat down with them and explained, in his steady, soft-spoken way, that he wanted more than acres of farmland and cattle. He wanted to build his own life, a fire in his dark blue eyes that Beth had never seen before. That was the last time she saw her brother for years until Mama's funeral last fall. He'd come home for that. Maggie, it seemed like, couldn't be bothered.

Beth fought to keep the wince of her face; the bitterness was a hard thing to let go of.

Hershel's dry, strained chuckle pulled her from her thoughts.

"She always was something of a free spirit," he admitted, the light words belying the heaviness in his expression.

Beth stood to lean over the bed and kiss his cheek. "Yes, she is. And I'm doin' fine, I promise."

It was a mantra she repeated every week. Everything was fine. Everyone was fine. There was nothing for him to worry about. She didn't doubt that he knew the lie for what it was, but he never called her on it. He worried, but he trusted too, and she loved him for it. Hershel gave her a small smile as she smoothed her hand over his hair.

"Did you bring me your book of figures like I asked?"

"Yes I did." She sat back down and opened her bag, pulling out a small red book with a pen clipped to its cover.

Beth handed it to him as Hershel adjusted his glasses, glancing down the neatly written columns his youngest daughter had penciled on the narrow pages. He hummed under his breath as his bright blue eyes scanned up and down, an old hymn that tickled Beth's memory. Pushing her hair back over her shoulder as she sat back, she hummed with him and that seemed to make him conscious of it. He looked up with a faint smile, the lines in his face deepening.

"I don't think I've heard that since your mother was alive."

She canted her head. "Which one is that, Daddy?"

Hershel made another humming sound, dipping his head back towards the little notebook. "Hmm, I believe 'There Will Be Peace in the Valley'. It was one of your grandmother's favorites."

Beth laughed softly, her eyes lighting up. "I didn't know you and Grandma had anythin' in common."

"Probably more than either one of us would have liked to admit," he replied, glancing at her over the rim of his glasses before tapping a fingertip against the open book. "Now, tell me about this."

She craned her neck to see what her father was pointing at as he held the book out to her. It was a small column, the numbers meager even in her large, bold handwriting.

"I called and spoke to Earl Sharpton, but he couldn't offer me a better price for those heifers." She pointed to the column to the left. "Here's their weights, 'ccordin' to _his_ scale, and that first column there was the price he was offering per pound per cow."

Her father's bushy white brows rose. "Fifteen cents a pound? I was selling cattle for more than that in 1932."

Beth lifted both her slender shoulders. "He said it was the best he could do."

Hershel started muttering under his breath, a deep set of furrows appearing on his forehead. "Call a man a friend for thirty years and he can't even give a decent...named his _grandson_ after me, for the love of...ridiculous...pig-headed...last time I ever give one of _his_ horses…"

"Daddy," she said gently, calling his attention back to her and feeling relieved when his dark expression cleared a little as she indicated another page. "Look at what I sold the eggs for. Mr. Johnson down at the grocery store said he was more than happy to buy four dozen a week as long as the hens kept laying."

Speaking in nearly identical soft tones, they slowly worked through the book. It was nearly three in the afternoon before Hershel slipped it closed with a quiet sigh.

"We just might make it this year, Bethy. The good Lord's watching out for us, I do believe"

Beth smiled, hoping it didn't look as strained as it felt, and squeezed his weathered hand. "Of course we will. We always have."

He covered her hand with his, his face showing signs of fatigue. "I just wish-"

"If wishes were horses, beggars would ride," she murmured, leaning up to kiss her father's temple. "You always told me that, and it's still true."

He chuckled raspily. "I suppose it is." He glanced out of the window. "You should start home, Bethy. It's a long ride."

Beth nodded sadly, her heart tight and heavy in her chest. She stood and hugged him, burying her face in the crook of his neck, refusing to allow the stinging in her eyes to give. "I love you, Daddy."

"I know. Humor the old man and call the room when you get to the house."

Reluctantly, she let him go, bending down to retrieve her bag from beside the chair. "I promise. I'll be back next Sunday, alright?"

He snagged her hand and gave it one more squeeze. "Be careful."

She looked down at him with a bright smile that she didn't feel. "I always am."

With a last, fond look, she crossed the room and closed the door behind her. It wasn't until she got back in the truck that she allowed herself one hiccupping sob. Her head flopped back against the seat, her fingers clenching around the small book in her purse. God, how could she lie to him like that?

She angled her head to look down at her lap, blinking hard and swiping the back of her hand across her eyes. She had to. He was sick. It wouldn't do him any good to know. She'd _promised_.

What choice did she have?

Exhaling harshly, she shoved the bag down and started the engine, the ancient truck shuddering and choking as she jerked it into reverse.

She spared a glance at the red cover visible on the seat next to her. She hadn't lied. The figures were as accurate as she could make them. Provided that prices held and they had a good tobacco crop come fall, they'd come out even by the end of the year. And if she could get the back field cleared by the end of the summer, they'd come out maybe even a little better than decent. They'd make ends meet.

But it wouldn't be enough.

Beth resisted the urge to drop her head onto the wheel as she pulled out onto the highway, instead bracing her elbow on the door and cradling the side of her head in her palm, driving with one hand. Her father owed the bank more than he could possibly pay back even if they had several exemplary years in a row. Between the back taxes and the mortgage, not to mention the debts incurred to some of the local businesses _and_ the line of credit she'd had to take out at the tractor company, there just wasn't enough money or enough farm to go around. Her father had an excellent practice as a vet. Well known and respected, he was the first emergency contact for numerous farmers across the county. But he also had a big heart, under all that gruffness. He felt with his whole being that he had been blessed with a gift. He worked for the good of the community, as he believed was his duty.

To charge people for doing the good Lord's work was tantamount to blasphemy, and Hershel Greene was a God-fearing man.

She rubbed her fingertips across her forehead. Her Daddy was a good man. He'd done the best he could by his family, living off what they hadn't needed to sell and raising his children in a far kinder way than his father had. He had taught them what he could, and those were lessons that Beth had taken to heart. Her parents had possessed a very clear definition of right and wrong, and there were few gray areas in the world as they saw it. Mama and Maggie had butted heads on more than one occasion over their differing opinions on that subject.

Secretly, Beth had more often than not agreed with her rebellious sister. Her mother had been a sweet, loving, _good_ woman, but she'd preferred her rose colored glasses to the frequently unpleasant realities the family had faced. Her children never wanted, but it was because they recognized that it would have been asking for more than she could give. Their table had never lacked for laughter and warm conversation, but it had never been full. The fields and pastures that stretched for acres in every direction had been beautiful, but not very fertile. Hershel was a successful man, but the little money he _did_ make was spent before it had even settled in his hands.

These were things Mama had never allowed herself to really see. Her children had not felt they could afford that luxury. All three of them had taken jobs in town as soon as they were big enough to see over a counter. And it had led to more than just paychecks. Mr. Johnson had adored Maggie and her quick smile for his customers. As long as she worked there, they never had to pay dime for anything. Shawn might not have gotten that scholarship if he hadn't been putting time in at the bank as a clerk. It'd looked great as community service, and Mr. Kiely had been willing to look the other way several times when payments were late. And as friendly as Doc Forrester was with her father, he probably still would have charged them _something_ for Mama's care if Beth hadn't been looking after for his grandchildren, the old coot.

Small town politics, she thought with a wry smile. You scratch their back, they scratch yours. It was all about who you knew. Mama would never have admitted that was the case. People were just kind and charitable, just like good Christian folks were supposed to be.

The farm was dark when she pulled into the yard. Beth blinked. Had she been that far in her own head, she hadn't even noticed the sun going down? She cut the engine and slid out of the truck. The porch had never looked so empty to her. The swing swayed forlornly at its end, the rocking chairs creaking softly in the warm breeze that blew westward. And the house…

She tipped her head back to gaze up at the beloved, white-washed shutters, the twin brick chimneys that jutted out proudly from the roof. She'd finally managed to repair the back side. Daddy would have had a stroke to know she'd been up there by herself, but the leaks were getting bad. Mama's beautiful hardwood floors were starting to warp from the moisture, and if the ceiling took any more water damage, well-

Beth sighed, rubbing the back of her neck. There wasn't anything left to hire anyone with. There just hadn't been anyone else to do the job. And her patch job seemed to be holding, for now. She'd have to get to work on the front soon, before the next big storm blew in. She'd have to keep sidestepping buckets in the kitchen and living room for a while longer, though. As she started up the wide steps, she glanced to the barn that was still proudly perched on its hill beside the house. It looked bad, even in the daylight, dilapidated and worn. Chunks of wood were missing from the walls, holes scattered across the tar blackened roof. If she didn't get to fixing _that_ soon, she was going to have no where to put the horses. That was an infinitely more pressing concern than damp floors. As long as she put down towels, she could make the house's roof keep.

A pounding was starting behind her eyes and Beth reached up to pinch the bridge of her nose. There was so much that needed her attention. Wearily, she dropped her bag and keys on the stoop and toed off her shoes, walking barefoot across the yard. She might as well check on Nelly and Moon while she was outside. The grass was thick and cool underfoot as she padded towards the building, grabbing the thick beam that ran across the doors and heaving it up. Her thin arms shook with the effort as she struggled to set it to the side, leaning it up against the side of the barn. Red paint peeled off and stuck to her hands as she hauled one door open and slipped inside, groping along the wall for the simple light switch. It clicked on, filling the barn with alternating patches of yellow light and deep shadow.

Whickering came from the other end and Beth felt her lips curl slightly as twin pink noses poked out of the two stalls that stood side by side. Nelly, a red roan with matching mane and tail, pawed at the ground while Moon, as milky white as his namesake, shivered and tossed his head. Stretching her hands up as she stopped in front of their stalls, Beth scratched behind flickering ears.

"Hey there," she cooed. "Still got plenty in there?" She stood on tiptoe as she asked the question, leaning left then right as she glanced around their large bodies, checking their water and feed. "Good."

She stood there for a while, stroking their faces a bit before letting her arms drop and turning to lean back against the post between them. Her arms folded as she stared at the straw on the floor, not really seeing it. What were they going to do?

She gnawed on her bottom lip, her eyes roving up to land on a closed door to the right on the other side. Her brow furrowed. When was the last time she'd looked in the old tack room? She couldn't remember. Probably last year, when she was moving things around. She kept most of the riding equipment close to the stalls now, where the roof was still intact. Aside from a few rusting odds and ends, she didn't recall there being anything else really. Well, aside from the old-

Beth stiffened suddenly. Was _that_ still in there? She certainly hadn't bothered it. As far as she knew, the damned thing hadn't even been touched since she was a little girl. Driven by a sudden surge of curiosity, she pushed herself away from the post and crossed the narrow aisle to the door. When she turned the knob and pushed, it held firm. Growling, she put her shoulder against it. With difficulty, she shoved it open, the planks screeching over the hard packed floor. She bent to the side and flicked on the light.

The room was musty, the scent of dust and rotting oath lingering sweet and thick in the air. Cobwebs hung in fat, gray ropes from the beams of the ceiling, moonlight streaming through the large holes that had been eaten away in great, gaping patches. At the very back, rising and falling in a series of odd shaped lumps, was a massive tarp, its original color long lost under a light grey coating of grime. Checking under her feet for corn snakes, Beth carefully stepped into the room, mindful of any nails as well. She really needed to sweep the whole barn. Maybe she could clean, but good, in the next few weeks. It could use an airing out. With careful hands, she grabbed the tarp and hauled it up and off. Dust rose and danced into the air, making her cough.

Cracking open one eye as she waved a hand in front of her face, trying to ward off the worst of it, she was surprised to see that everything was in relatively good shape.

"Granddaddy's still," she murmured, glancing over it with a crooked smile. "Well, ain't you a piece of history." Beth swallowed past her dry throat and ran her fingers over the curling copper tubing that ran from one squat barrel to the furnace lined with heavy stone. "Wonder what kinda stories you could tell, huh? I doubt I heard even half of 'em."

She drummed her fingers on top of the barrel. The copper needed replacing, but at first glance, it looked fine. Her eyes lit up. Maybe-

Guilt followed fast on the heels of her nostalgia. Daddy would kill her for even considering it. He'd made it very clear, even when she was a child, that the Greene family's days of bootlegging were well behind them, nothing but stories of glory days long dead. She stroked a hand over one of the stones. It was understandable. Temptation. He'd fought long and hard to overcome his need for a bottle, and had instilled in his children a fierce predisposition against it. Not that they'd listened very well, she thought with another smile tickling her lips. She and her siblings had experimented. They weren't as innocent as they liked Hershel to believe, but as far as she knew, all three of them had only flirted with that line. None of them would have dared to come home with anything resembling alcohol on her breath. Beth had rarely seen her father angry, but that would have incurred a wrath that not even Job could have likely weathered.

Not to mention, she admitted silently, she didn't know the first thing about making moonshine, much less selling it. The county was dry, so it wasn't like she wouldn't have buyers, but that wouldn't last long when they keeled over from alcohol poisoning. No, it was a stupid, desperate idea. Beth set the tarp back over the old equipment and turned on her heel, shutting the door to the old tack room firmly behind her.

They'd make do. They always did.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, new chapter! Please let me know what you guys think. I'd really like to explore this story, but only if people are interested. Thank you so much to those of you that read, commented, and left kudos! :)

Blearily, Beth rolled over in her bed, fumbling blindly in the dark for the squawking piece of crap that was determined to rouse her from her soft, comfy blankets. Her head shoved beneath a goose down pillow, she slapped her palm on the top of her nightstand, using the vibrations reverberating through her fingers to guide her. Viciously, she slammed her fist down on top of the clock, rendering the room blissfully silent.

Ah, she sighed, that was better.

She gave herself about five minutes to savor it, rolling over and pulling the pillow off her face, her eyes closed as she basked in cool sheets. Then, with a heartfelt groan, she sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed, pushing her grandmother's baby blue and pink quilt towards the footboard. She glanced at the clock. 5:30 on the nose. Running a hand through her hair, she winced when her fingers caught in a snarl. Well, that's what you got when you went to bed with wet hair. How many times had that been drilled into her head? Carefully disentangling her hand from her head, she reached for her toothbrush and glanced up at her reflection over the bathroom sink. The lines around her mouth and eyes were less apparent this morning, but her irises were glassy and red-rimmed. She'd slept fitfully, flopping around like a fish as her mind twisted and turned. These days, she couldn't seem to find the switch to turn it off.

The taste of cinnamon flooded her mouth as she started scrubbing her teeth vigorously, eager to get the cotton feeling out. Her tongue felt like it was coated in an entire layer of yuck, she thought with a wince. When she'd finished, she sat on the toilet seat and bent forward, snatching up the thick brush she kept on the sink. It took longer than she would have liked, but she eventually worked out the knots before pulling the weight of her blonde strands into a high ponytail. She kept the light on as she left the bathroom and jerked open the stubborn door to her closet. Groping for a pair of jeans and a shirt, she flung them on the bed as she stripped out of the threadbare t-shirt she'd slept in. It was one of Shawn's, the hem almost reaching her knees, a testament to her brother's ridiculous height.

And a reminder that she missed him.

Groaning, Beth shoved her legs into the denim, scrubbing a hand down her face as she visualized the coffee pot downstairs in the kitchen. She'd set it last night, didn't she? God, she hoped so. She shut the door to her room quietly, then rounded the bannister. As she descended the staircase, she passed by dozens of pictures of her family. Awards, certificates, knickknacks, and her siblings' high school diplomas were all neatly framed among the fading photographs. Absently, she ran her fingertips over some of them as she moved, blinking blearily as her feet landed on the first floor.

She made a beeline for the counter on the far side of the sink, snagging the mug and spoon she'd left out for herself the night before. Dumping several large helpings of sugar into the bottom of it, she then gratefully heaved the half full pot up and poured. She shivered in pleasure at how good it smelled. Placing the pot back in the coffee maker, she tugged open the fridge and dug out a glass bottle of milk. Unscrewing the top, she tipped a small amount into her cup before replacing the bottle back. As she took her first tentative sip, she shut the door, letting her eyes fall closed as the sweet heat rolled over her tongue.

"Oh, God, that's good."

Carefully avoiding burning her mouth, she drained the cup within a couple of minutes and put it face down in the sink to wash out when she came back in. Snatching an apple out of the bowl on the kitchen table, she threw open the screen door that lead onto the porch and sank her teeth into the ruby red skin. It wasn't as tasty as coffee, but she needed something on her stomach. Fog laid thick and damp beyond the fence line, mingling with the steam that was starting to rise from the dew already drying in the muggy Georgia air. Beth snatched up her boots as she stepped out onto the porch, tugging them on and stamping her feet. Down from the porch itself, her mama's garden ran along the side of the house. She'd tend it in a bit. For now, she reached into the earth and pulled out a couple of ripe carrots, holding her breakfast clenched in her teeth.

Brushing away the dirt, she turned on the spigot near the porch steps and washed off the vegetables. Turning it back off, she strode easily across the yard, cradling her apple in the palm of her free hand and munching noisily. Moon and Nelly happily took the offered treats as she let them out of the barn, walking them to the pasture. She split the apple core between them before heading back to clean out their stalls and spreading fresh hay from the bales kept stored in the loft. She pointedly kept her gaze away from the door to the old tack room.

Within an hour, she was back outside. The yard was still dark, although she could see the first tinge of pink above the trees out across the pasture. The hens were drowsily clucking in the coop as Beth scooped up the basket she kept just beside the door. Indignant feathers fluffed against her hands as she shooed them out of their warm nests, collecting the eggs gingerly. Their one rooster, Barney, was a scrawny, red-plumed menace this morning, like every morning, trilling his displeasure at her presence with every step she took.

"I know, I know," she told him, exasperated as she looked down at him with narrowed eyes. "But you ain't got no say in it. You didn't lay 'em and you didn't warm 'em. All  _you_  do is strut around the yard like you did."

His answering squawk was clearly disgruntled.

Her lips tugging into a small smile at the corners, Beth ducked her head as she stepped out of the coop and around the side. A stack of cartons leaned haphazardly against the wooden siding. With gentle, quick fingers, she set the eggs inside, counting silently. She was pleased when the total was a little over three dozen. Setting the bucket back in its place, she took the containers and the extra eggs back up to the house. With them tucked neatly in the refrigerator, she snagged the basket kept on the counter closest to the kitchen door and went back outside.

Humming under her breath, she worked in the garden until well after sun-up, picking and sorting what was ripe before watering the tilled earth. Swiping the back of her hand across her forehead, she took a minute to sit on the porch steps and look through her small harvest.

"Lot of green today," she noted in a soft murmur. Collards and cabbage made up the vast majority of her basket, but there were turnips, cauliflower, onions, and more carrots too. She talked to herself as she rooted through the vegetables. "Those potatoes should be ready in a couple more weeks. Ain't plantin' sweet potatoes till August though, so...ah, eggplants, they'll do good in the back part. Some squash too. Mmm, fried squash and okra."

She let her head tip back as she imagined crunching on green and yellow chips. Too bad they weren't in season yet. Oh, well. Something to look forward to later in the summer.

When she lifted her head, she glanced at the lane, frowning as a cloud of dust billowed up over the tall, waving grass on either side. Grunting, she pushed herself up and reached down to run her hands under the spigot, then extended her hand towards the rag she kept draped on the railing, wiping the dirt from her hands as she stared with narrowed eyes. Now who could that be at this hour of the morning?

She strolled further into the yard as she folded her arms, her weight braced on one foot with the rag dangling from her fingers. The cloud curved around the last bend in the dirt road and she recognized the dark green truck. Lifting a hand, she waved as the driver shoved it into park and tossed open the door. A lanky young man climbed out, his denim jacket tight over his shoulders. His snakeskin boots were shiny and clean, the grey and black scales crisply defined as he walked towards her, using a thumb to push his hat back over his sandy, curly hair. He was tall, his head nearly a foot over Beth's. Danny Johnson was good-looking, in a boyish sort of way, and he knew it, flashing the dimples on each side of his smile at every opportunity. His dark blue eyes always seemed to be twinkling impishly.

"Mornin', Danny," she greeted him, stuffing the rag into her back pocket.

"Mornin', Beth," he replied, nodding to her and shoving his hands in his own pockets. He ticked his chin towards the house. "Pop sent me to pick up them eggs of yers. Said he figured ya'd already have 'em ready."

She chuckled softly. "He ain't wrong. C'mon in, I got 'em waitin' in the kitchen."

She climbed the steps and held the door open for him to catch. His hand closed around the screen's edge, keeping it open as Beth crossed the floor in a quick stride.

"Want some coffee?" she asked him over her shoulder.

"I'd appreciate it," she heard him say, his words punctuated by the creak of the door closing behind him.

She muttered an affirmation and grabbed her mug out of the sink, rinsing it out before fetching a second one from the cupboard. She didn't ask how he wanted it, just fixed it with slightly less sugar than her own and no milk. He'd been coming out here to pick things up for his daddy since he was old enough to peek over the dashboard, she knew how he liked his coffee. When she turned back around he'd braced his hip against the doorjamb, one arm across his chest while the other's elbow was balanced on top of it, his fingertip brushing the brim of his hat.

"You got it fixed nice," he said, giving her that friendly grin of his. "Almost as pretty as you in here."

Beth rolled her eyes at him as she handed him his cup. She leaned over the island to balance her weight on her elbows, her mug cradled between her fingers.

"Quit tryin' s'hard, we ain't in high school no more. Ain't like you gotta dance ya wanna ask me to."

That sparkle was in his eyes again as he sipped from his mug. "Says who?"

She snorted with a small smile. "Says Linda Mae Alcott, tha's who." There was a certain degree of satisfaction in watching him flush, suddenly much more interested in his coffee. "How's the store doin'?" she asked, changing the subject.

"Bout the same, I reckon," he said as he straightened and pulled out one of the stools on the other side of the island. "Mom's off our backs for a while, so tha' might make it a better couple of days than most."

Beth winced sympathetically. Betty Johnson was a lovely woman, as sweet as they came, but she gave no quarter when it came to the family business.

"I'd heard yer Aunt Charlene wasn't doin' so good."

Danny inclined his head, the muscle in the jaw working as he set his cup down.

"I don't reckon she's got much longer, but I think havin' Mom there makes Grandma and Uncle Bucky feel better."

Beth took another sip. "I don't doubt it. Skeeter takin' to the store yet?"

His mouth quirked up. "He'd like Pop to think so. But he ain't doin' too bad. Them new machines give him some trouble, but he's gettin' there."

"He'll learn. If Maggie could figure the damn things out, anybody can."

Danny's eyebrows rose, his mouth curving higher and revealing those dimples. "Did you just cuss in your daddy's house, Miss Greene?"

"Damn hardly counts as cussin'," she retorted dryly, her lips touching the rim of her mug. "Now if I were to use some of the language I've heard out of  _your_  mouth, Daniel Johnson, I do believe my Mama would roll over in her grave."

He had the good grace to look sheepish, rubbing the back of his neck with his large hand. They chatted for a little while longer. With his father's store being right on Main Street, the grand center of town, Danny got to hear quite a few things. Doug Hensley and his wife were separated on account she'd found him in bed with Missy Thames, one of the waitresses at Daisy's Diner down on Oak. A couple of the local high school boys were likely responsible for putting Jason Rhimes's brand new Volkswagen in between two of the light poles on the same street as a prank. Judge Amsley was set on retiring, provided he won the next election for County Commissioner. Most of the farmers were right pleased with the corn crop this season, Beth included.

"Oh, and did ya hear about that Dixon fella?"

Beth canted her head as she shook it lightly. "Nope. Don't hear much out here."

"Evidently," Danny said with a teasing smirk, pushing away his drained cup. "Heard Deputy Walsh tellin' Pop tha' ole Merle was gettin' out, maybe lookin' t'come back to Senoia."

She gnawed on her bottom lip as she plucked up his mug and took both it and hers to the sink. Rinsing them out, she spoke over her shoulder.

"I can't imagine tha' goin' well with anybody in town. We were in what...fifth, sixth grade when he got sent upstate?"

"Somethin' like tha', yeah." He huffed out a breath, folding his arms as he leaned back on the stool. "If ya ask me, they shoulda sent tha' brother of his with 'em. Everybody knows Merle didn't rob tha' liquor store by himself. Pop says he always talked a better game than he had the brains t'play. Both of 'em, actually. Said tha' robbin' Chet's place was the straw tha' broke the camel's back. Finally bit off more than he could chew."

Beth set the mugs upside down on the counter to let them drain with a frown. "I don't remember him havin' a brother. 'Course, we were pretty young at the time." She turned to lean back against the cabinet doors and smiled slightly. "And you know I ain't never been one for town much."

"You ain't missed much," he replied dismissively, sliding off the stool. "Anyways, I've kept ya long enough."

"Got all yer gossipin' out, then?" she asked, watching his smile widen into a noncommittal grin as she opened the fridge and pulled out the now cool cartons.

She gave them to him at the door and he dug into his jacket pocket, pulling out a couple of crumpled bills.

"There's wha' I owe ya." He lifted his hand to tip his hat. "Thanks for the coffee, Beth. Reckon I'll be seein' ya tomorrow?"

She nodded. "Yeah, I'll be bringin' 'em t'town in the morning."

Danny's smile never wavered as he walked down the steps and got into his trucks, giving her a friendly wave as he pulled out of the yard. Beth returned it. She liked Danny, she really did. He and his brothers were good guys, although Skeeter could be a handful. Boy had more energy than a wound up top. Out of all the people she'd gone to school with, though, Danny was pretty much the only one she kept up with. Partially it was due to just how much business her family did with his. They'd gone out a couple of times junior year, but it'd never gone anywhere.

Beth snorted. None of the guys she'd gone out with had gone anywhere. Once she'd thought that maybe-

"Get yer head outta them clouds, girl, you got work still to do," she told herself sternly, pulling on a pair of gloves out of the drawer at her hip. "That tractor don't run itself."

Most days she wished that it did. An old 1959 White, it was a pain in the ass to crank, temperamental, and the wheel tended to stick. But it was still running, so she kept her grumbling to a minimum and just sent a prayer of thanks every time it fired up under the back shed. Climbing into the squeaky seat, she jammed her foot down on the clutch and twisted the key. It rumbled out into the yard with a mechanical groan of protest. Backing it up into the small fenced area where the larger bales were kept took more patience than skill, something that Beth had to keep reminding herself of as the forks slid under the first rounded bale. Jiggling the lever, it lifted up with a hiss of ancient hydraulics and she turned the irritable thing towards the pasture.

The heifers knew the choking sound of it's engine, already crowding along the fence as she drove towards the far gate. Shuddering into park, she pushed the rusted metal open before slogging through the muddy ruts that led into the field. Some of the braver members of the herd were already nipping at the straw, tugging out chunks or just wolfing down what trailed behind the tractor.

"C'mon!" she hollered, shoving the machine into park next to the feed ring as she lowered the forks and hopped down.

It was aluminum, light but sturdy, and she quickly rolled it towards the bale and let it drop around the hay. She was only feeding the ones in this pasture, the rest left to graze on the other side of the fields, something she was happy about. Making multiple trips always ran the risk of the White giving out before the job was done. Matter of fact, it was almost a guarantee that it would. Seemed to be its way of getting revenge for anyone daring to start it.

"Please don't give out on me," she pleaded with it quietly as she swung back up into the seat.

Maybe it was feeling agreeable today. Or maybe it just wanted to give her a taste of hopefulness as it sputtered and growled across the pasture.

It made it as far as the gate before it died on her.

"You sorry son of a-" she couldn't even finish, slamming her hands against the wheel. "Just couldn't stand it, could ya? Got to cause me some kind of aggravation!"

Swearing under her breath, Beth clambered down. "I talk sweet t'ya, change yer oil, keep ya dry, and this is how you thank me. Worthless piece of…"

She trailed off as she gingerly ran her hands over the hoses, checking for leaks. Then she moved to the hard metal parts, searching for signs of overheating, wear, anything that could give her an idea of what had caused the problem. Using the front tire for a foothold, she yanked herself up to check the stacks.

"Figures," she muttered, glancing down the front stack, where plumes of black smoke rose into the air. "Gotta replace the spark arrester. Damn!" She smacked her palm against the tractor's hood. "Couldn't be cheap either, could ya?"

She gave the machine a dirty glare as she jumped back to the ground and walked out of the field to close the gate. There wasn't much choice other than to go to town earlier than she'd planned. Just for a minute, Beth let her head drop against the top of the gate and let out a harsh breath, her hands dangling over the rail. What were her odds that the hardware store had the part she needed in stock?

Not any that she'd want to bet on, she answered herself wearily. And it wasn't even mid morning yet.


End file.
